


Out of the Fire

by Churbooseanon



Series: Guns For Hire [10]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Guns For Hire AU, Mercenaries, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2140968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Churbooseanon/pseuds/Churbooseanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are few jobs that the mercenary known as The Meta can't handle on his own. The first time he gets back up is a pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Fire

If they had told him this was a possibility, he would have turned down the contract. After all, he had his own reputation to maintain. He was supposed to be unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with. When one side of a drawn out conflict hired the Meta, they knew what they were getting. A demon, barely restrained, and brought in when there is no other options. A man who always finishes his missions, with barely a word. A hired gun if there really was one to ever fit that description. 

Maine didn't put too much stock in pride, but there was a professional sort that one had to hold to when you were a mercenary. The absolute knowledge and faith in oneself that had to be there in the way a mercenary walked, the way they stood, the way they handled their weapons. A pride that said they got the job done and the money that was being offered to them was going to get the job they had agreed upon done. Professional pride was what maintained their names, their reputations, and their ability to be hired. And Maine was always hired. For the big bucks. There were few mercs who fetched as high a price as he did, few mercs that pulled the long jobs that were greater threats to life and limb, and few mercs who had a record like his. 

Which was what made the gray and yellow clad man moving almost calmly through the battle, shooting the men shooting at Maine a personal affront. 

No one had told him that Recovery had been hired on this. 

There was too much going on for him to waste time reacting. Too many men around him, far more than the client had suggested there would be. Maine was going to have to have words with the woman when this was all over, demand an additional fee for the inconvenience. In the mean time he was running low on bullets, not to mention canisters for his Brute Shot. Instead Maine found himself lashing out with the blade of his weapon: driving the point through men, cutting throats with a slash, taking arms and legs and anything else that came in his way off with an easy lop. 

His coat is covered in blood. His coat and helmet and hands and his weapon. The ground around him was littered with bodies. There's a body pressed up against his back, smaller than his, but he can easily feel the lack of overt tension in Recovery's shoulders, and it's half comforting. The other half of him is pissed off to find the other merc here, helping him. 

“I think we're just about done here,” a voice, must be Recovery's, cuts into the fray just before Maine throws himself forward and rams the tip of his Brute Shot through the helmet of an enemy. 

Maine just grunts his acknowledgment. Considers, for half a moment, turning around and shooting the asshole covering his back just because of the insult the man's very presence posed. 

“You're not upset, are you?” Recovery asks, his tone actually conversational as if they aren't cleaning up the last traces of resistance. 

Another grunt, mostly because Maine isn't having this conversation. Not here, not now. Not with men still standing.

A burst of gunfire behind him, and then a relieved sounding sigh. “That's last down.”

So maybe he was having the conversation here and now. Maine sighed and searched the area, eyes casting about for any other motion. Given nothing he sighed and turned to look at the gray and yellow form waiting for him. 

“You're Recovery,” Maine observes. “Didn't ask for you.”

“The people I'm hired to work with rarely do,” the other merc says, and Maine is pretty sure the man is smiling under his helmet. “Of course, they're usually told I'm being retained. I'm guessing you...”

“Weren't,” Maine agrees. “Would have refused the job.” 

“I've had a lot of extreme reactions, but usually _before_ I save their asses,” Recovery laughs. “Not my fault. I was told you were told.”

“Wasn't. Don't care. Leave.”

Recovery rolled his shoulders in a shrug, and shakes his head. “Not exactly something I can do. Now that I'm in this, I'm supposed to wrap up with you. From the looks of it, you've only got an hour or so left. So really, is the company that bad?”

Maine sighs, looks around them at the fallen bodies, and thinks about his lack of ammo of any sort. Really, an extra hand wasn't going to be too bad. 

“Come on.”

Recovery nodded.

Maine just hoped the other merc wasn't a talker.

“So... those rumors about your collar...”

All Maine could do was groan.


End file.
